The white line’s messin’ with my eyes. Not even a Stop-N-Go in this ass-end
a nowhere. Sick a burnt coffee an country music. Boy what I’d give for a cold one.
Eighteen hours drivin’ an humpin’ packages — helluva way to make a buck. Be
glad to get on home have some a that chicken Eva May was gonna fry up for me.
Damn — what was that woman wantin’ from the store — don’t matter, ain’t stoppin’.
Comin’ up on that four lane, freakin’ place to hang a left this time a night. Christ I’m
beat can’t hardly feel my toes. Ain’t no help for it gotta close … my eyes’… for a …

… what the … some damn fool screamin’ somewhere … I’m thinkin’ that delivery
a mine is gonna be all kinds a late.